by Elliott Bell
You won’t be anyone’s bitch, you said.
How’d I become your bitch instead?
Curling at your feet every evening,
My heart set on being pleasing.
And though I always give excuse,
Your striking words have bruised.
I’ve followed your lead this whole time.
But leads can break, I think you’ll find,
And if it rends you may see
A different kind of bitch in me.
One that snaps instead of cowers,
Clawing at any scrap of power,
Forsaking flimsy meekness
To attack any sign of weakness.
You may not have met her yet,
But that doesn’t mean she’s not a threat.